I reach into my purse and pull out my phone. “Not girly and needy,” I tell Jamie, who is giving me The Look. “We need a selfie.”
“Oh! Totally! With the drinks,” she adds, which is easy for her to say. I end up leaning way back, holding the drink in my left hand and the camera in my right. Honestly, it would be easier to ask the bartender to take it, but Damien told me he wanted selfies, and for this particular game, I’m all about following the rules.
“Did you get us?” Jamie asks as I open up my photos.
“Hang on.” It’s a reasonable question. Photography is my hobby, but that doesn’t translate to selfies. I tend to shift at the last second and mess them up completely. “Oh, check it out. This one’s not too bad.”
I pass her my phone, now open to the image of us, smiling and holding our glasses. Instead of shifting to the side, though, I apparently lifted my arm, because we don’t fill the frame the way I had planned. Instead, we’re in the bottom third, and the crowded tables in this popular bar are in the background. I figure that’s even better, since it gives a sense of location.
“Nikki!” Jamie’s voice is a low, startled whisper. “Did you look at this?”
“At what?”
“The picture. What’s behind us.”
“I—no.” I frown. “What are you talking about?”
She slides the phone back to me. “Look.”
I do—and then I turn toward her and grin.
“Don’t turn around!” she says, as if I were planning to.
Of course, now that she has said that, the urge is powerful. Because now I know who’s behind us. Now I know why neither of us have received any sexts.
Now I know that this weekend is going to be more interesting than I anticipated.
“I have to look,” I admit.
“Yeah, me, too.”
We both shift on our stools. And there, just sitting and talking as if they haven’t got a care in the world, are Ryan and Damien.
They look up at the same time, and Damien’s eyes meet mine. At first, his expression is flat. Corporate. Then his mouth curves up and his eyes darken, and I can see such promise of heat and pleasure that my stomach turns to butterflies and my mouth goes dry.
I expect him to say something. I expect him to come over.
I expect him to do anything but what he does next, which is turn his eyes away and continue talking to Ryan, as if I wasn’t sitting right there at all.
I smile, suddenly understanding.
And this, I think, is going to be so much better than sexting.
Beside me, Jamie still isn’t with the program. “Should we go sit with them?”
“No,” I say with a grin. “That’s not the game.”
“The—oh.”
Just as realization dawns, the bartender sets fresh drinks in front of us. “From the gentlemen,” he says with a jerk of his chin, and we both turn to raise our glasses in a silent gesture of thanks. Damien, however, is the only one at the table.
I give him a little nod, then turn my back to him, hiding my grin.
Beside me, Jamie is about to lean toward me, presumably to ask where Ryan is. But that’s when I see Ryan approaching her. He takes a seat on the open stool beside her, and I casually reach for my drink, then take a sip as I eavesdrop on my best friend.
“Haven’t I seen you on television?” he says.
Jamie turns to him, her body language suggesting she gets this question all the time and is bored with it. “It’s possible.”
“I’m Ryan.”
“I’m not the kind of girl who picks up strange men in hotel bars.”
“No? I’m not a strange man.”
“Too bad.” Jamie’s voice holds as much heat as a small nuclear reactor. “I like strange.”
She slides off the stool. “You’ll have to excuse me,” she says politely. “I need to go to the ladies room.” She glances at me, her expression playful. “I’ll be right back.”
She walks away, and Ryan is left sitting alone at the bar.
“She’s very particular about the men she dates,” I say. “And she’ll only fall for a truly spectacular guy.”
Humor flashes in his eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He inclines his head, then leaves. I take another sip of my drink and plan to tell Jamie that we really need to move on to food. Too many drinks and too little solid food is starting to mess with my head.
As I’m thinking about my increasing state of inebriation, someone moves up behind me. I know without turning that it is Damien, and when he asks, “Is this seat taken?” his low, familiar voice sends shivers through me.
“I suppose it is now,” I say as he sits.
I turn to find him looking at me, his dark eyes burning with so much desire that it whips in fiery swirls all through me. I raise my glass, then take a sip. Frankly, I need it to cool down.
“I was hoping that drink would buy me an introduction.”
I extend my hand. “Nikki Fairchild.”
He takes it, and despite every way that he has touched me, this simple brush of palm against palm sends shock waves skittering all through me. “It’s a pleasure, Ms. Fairchild.”
I pull my hand away, feeling strangely unsettled. I want to play this game. And that means keeping my cool.
“Why did you want to buy an introduction?”
“I was hoping you’d have dinner with me.”
“Were you?” I run my finger along the rim of my glass, my eyes never leaving his. “Why?”